Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Dear Pompous Ass,
Since we’re speaking of asses, thought I would send you a picture of mine. Don’t bother looking too hard. I can answer your question now; no, I’m not wearing underwear.
I’m so cheeky, aren’t I? < - - Pun intended.
Okay, your turn, send me a picture of your ass.
Postscript: I like when you roll your sleeves up on your dress shirt. Just makes me want to bang you even more.
Fuck.
Sitting back in my chair, I drag my hands over my face and then lean forward again, opening up the picture at the bottom.
Coming to full screen is a picture of the nicest fucking ass I’ve ever seen. Wrapped in tight black pants, her ass arches from her back, a slope I want to run my hand over, I want to cup, I want to fucking spank.
I adjust myself in my seat, studying the curve of her ass, the background behind her. It looks like she’s in a cubicle, so that means it could be ANYONE. Great.
And black pants? That gives away nothing.
I lean forward a little more, trying to see if I recognize—
The door to my office flies open and Hunter comes strolling in, a lollipop in his mouth and a smirk on his face.
Frantically, I try to hit the exit button, but it’s too late. Hunter notices my panic, his smirk turning into a full-on grin as he rounds my desk and takes in the ass on my screen.
“Well, well, well, what have we here?” One hand on my desk, the other gripping the back of my chair, he leans forward to examine the picture. “Damn, whose ass is that?” I don’t answer him, and it takes him all but two seconds to figure it out. “Is that mystery girl? Fuck, she has a nice butt, man.”
He claps me on the back.
Shaking him off, I say, “It is.”
“Has she revealed herself?”
“No.” I pick my pen back up and start fiddling with it. “She’s relentless. My threats have no effect on her.”
“Why would they? If your stupid memo didn’t stop her, why do you think your emails will? Plus, why do you want it to stop?”
“Need I remind you of the company’s policies?”
He waves a hand at me and sucks on his lollipop. Suck. Pop. “Lighten the fuck up and send her a dick pic.”
“You’re psychotic. I’m not sending her a dick pic.”
“Why not? Talk about a way to fucking shock her. Just stick the camera down your pants, take a quick snapshot, and send it on its way.” This man is my best friend. Has he met me?
In a million years I would never send a dick pic.
I cross my arms over my chest and study my asinine friend. “Is there a reason you’re here?”
From his back pocket, he pulls out a crumpled set of papers stapled together in the corner and tosses them to me. “Got you those reports you were looking for.”
I eye the folded papers on my desk and then look at my friend. “You know how to send emails, so what the hell are you doing giving me a hard copy?”
He shrugs. “I just like seeing your angry face. It makes me happy.”
Why the hell are we friends again?
“You need to leave before I lose my shit.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Dude, you need to calm down. Look at how tense you are. Jesus, take a breather.” He sucks on his lollipop again, smacking his lips. “We’ve been friends for a long time and believe me when I say, I admire your work ethic. Kind of wish I had some of that in me.” Me too. “You’ve become a hermit over the last year, and I’m starting to get worried. You’re my best friend, and I don’t want to see you croak at thirty-five because you refused to have any sort of fun.” Lick and suck. “For once, let loose. Who knows, if you actually give in to these emails, you might find yourself less tense, less of a raving bitch around the office, and more satisfied when you get home.” He shrugs his shoulders and stands from his chair. “You don’t know who she is, so what do you have to lose? Nothing. But you have a whole lot to gain.”
Walking away, he shimmies his shoulders and says, “Loosen up, dude. It’ll be good for you.”
My office door slams behind him. Why does he always do that? Why can’t he ever shut the door quietly? I turn my head back to the computer screen when the door cracks open again, Hunter sticking his head through. “By the way, want to print that picture for me? I can go around and compare and contrast and report back. That’s the kind of work I don’t mind doing.”
“Get the fuck out of here.”
His laugh echoes through the door as it slams again.